The Big Squeeze

Well, if you weren’t hunting down a quick discourse on compression/less housings and their significance in bicycle control cables then chances are you’re a first year economics undergraduate seeking some inspiration or possibly salacious carnal misinformation. Let’s be clear, I have nothing whatsoever against higher education or indeed the seemingly unlimited powers of the Internet, which has revolutionised the way in which we communicate, research and approach life. However, before I examine a bevy of beautiful blinkeys (not to mention more potent see-by systems) in greater detail these Jagwire Hyper brake cables induced a sudden, slightly surreal flashback to 1993. Low compression improves modulation and feel by a good notch or two. However, brakes require some degree of compression at the cable for proper function. This is not the case with derailleurs, so you can appreciate the dangers of mixing and matching them. Recovered from his strange delusion that stripping Cro-moly framesets of paint would save weight without detrimental effect upon corrosion resistance-especially in a cross-country mountain biking context, a friendly acquaintance at Polytechnic justly decided wholesale cable replenishment was in order due to weathered, kinked housings and frayed ends having a pronounced and unwelcome effect upon braking and shifting. With that all too precious grant cheque a couple of weeks over yonder, imagine his excitement having acquired several metres of outers and a bundle of inner wires…gratis.

Owning a decent set of wire snips, it wasn’t long before he beat a path to my front door asking me to cut inners and outers at strategic points. Nothing particularly significant there, nor the intermittent discussion around component choices, build projects and other incidental gossip common to those afternoons. Job done and cud chewed he shot off home to perform the operation, only to discover a distinct lack of feel from the lever upon engaging the brakes at a busy junction…
As the clocks chime the onset of winter, it is timely that I should receive a bountiful supply of lights for testing. Rest assured, I didn’t hit the lanes all guns blazing, ensemble on full beam (Although one poor soul thought he was entering the Twilight zone... Just breathe into this bag for me sir...) These here Genetic road bars boast lights for most tastes and purposes. Suffice to say I’ve been suitably impressed relative to their design brief, from cutesy Knog Boomer rechargeables with their 50 lumen outputs to the super-commuter types from Cat-Eye and Lezyne belting out a whopping 200 and 450 respectively in exchange for £100 and a full USB fuel-up.
Time was when this sort of technology commanded several hundred pounds and required hefty bottle/frame mounted battery packs. Run times between charges are middling, although three to five or so hours is quite feasible if you were prepared to toggle to a lower setting (My preference, at least with the Lezyne would be to procure a second, fully charged battery in my jersey pocket and swap over for extended playtimes). With great power comes great responsibility…don’t mount either of these to helmets-on their highest settings at least since you will blind oncoming drivers. Some might, in your minds-eye deserve this sort of rebuke courtesy of a pronounced inability to dip beams or otherwise display anything resembling road-craft. This latter construct isn’t concerned with passing the basic test(s) for the vehicles you operate but the ability to use them with care, skill and consideration for others.
I have seen too many drunk, incompetent, careless drivers who kill with seemingly casual indifference go about their lives without prosecution or consequence. Now, I understand the legal rationale and concepts of public interest but it seems to me that a driver who ploughs into a cyclist, phones a friend to come and collect her, leaving the rider to die in agony and without reporting the accident to the police was treated with phenomenal leniency on the grounds she was pregnant. I accept the judges’ reasoning that the unborn child was an innocent in all this and therefore, didn’t deserve to be born into a prison environment but still feel such casual indifference needs to be tackled on a collective level and with very stiff penalties for those who treat others with such blatant contempt. Sadly, if government plans to make the MOT inspection bi annual reach fruition, the death rate is likely to rise quite dramatically when un-roadworthy vehicles and drivers come into the equation…
Polaris has introduced a hi-viz collection dubbed RBS (Really Bright Stuff) to their range of high quality attire. I’ve been playing with this incarnation of their classic Hoolie glove and am suitably impressed. Not by the retina ruinous road-worker yellow and black livery so much, although this is a godsend on really gloomy November days but because of superior gel padding designed to protect the vulnerable Ulnar nerve from tingling and more serious carpel tunnel injury.

Deceptively flat, the gel offers commendable comfort over long distances and variable terrain, while the wind and water resistant polyester/nylon shell offers excellent protection from the elements without feeling bulky or remote at the controls. That said, dexterity’s not quite up to addressing punctures or similar roadside mechanicals and some suggested Scotchlite detailing should extend along the finger tips but frankly, in practice this has been a moot point with my hand signals perfectly visible to the majority of traffic.

Baggy Trousers & Blasting Frames

No, nothing to do with Madness, the 80's Ska inspired pop band-we're talking messenger knickers/three quarter lengths (delete as your road/mtb heritage dictates). Lycra remains a firm favourite for fast blasts on the Holdsworth and Teenage Dream but there's much to be said in favour of stylish modesty as my thirties thunder by. The one downside to this genre of respectable leg-wear is the attention it draws to furry pins-hence my endearing love affair with Veet!

Missing teeth aren't particularly fetching either...Despite a varied and reasonably balanced diet, my cola consumption was on par with Dennis Hopper's appetite for liquor during the 1970s. The loss of a prominent and very expensive dental crown has ended a twenty year dependency upon this evil mistress.

Polaris Transition bear remarkable similarity to Protective Washingtons, although they're fashioned from water repellent rip-stop polyester which has a distinctly "technical" feel compared with the German marque's brushed fabric. Pockets are the bog standard hip for change, keys and stuffing the hands when mooching around town while the positively cavernous cargo type gobble everything from larger compact cameras, wallets and smart phones through to road maps- er, that's retro GPS for the uninitiated. Stretch panels minimise bunching even-fully laden and hammering along at ninety-plus rpm while the rip-stop lives up to it's reputation, shrugging at brambles and other feisty foliage. They're as chic, civilian and water resistant as you'll need in the urban jungle, although the Protective have the edge for more formal meets. Sizing is a major consideration though and in their infinite wisdom, Polaris have done something very strange for the men-folk. My thirty-two inch waist, thirty-three leg isn't particularly outlandish and I've always managed a medium...I squeezed into our sample sans unsightly muffin top and given a few longish outings, the fabric relaxes. Measurements seem more consistent for the ladies but nonetheless try before parting with your hard-earned.

Diesel strength coffee and regular visits to Maldon Shotblasting & Powder Coating have been keeping the soda scourge firmly in check. In amongst a flurry of rusty motorcycle frames, panels and tanks sat this weary looking '80s Condor road frameset ready for a "French Blue" rebirth.Construction and attention to detail are to a standard "Johnny come artisan" can only dream of. Note the accuracy of brazing- no runs or drips here (more than can be said for the Teenage Deam-at least around the original fork crown). My inclination would be to reconfigure the top-tube cable routing but then perhaps the owner wants to retain its originality and besides, identikit machines/increasingly identikit people are equally undesirable.

The same is true of dirty/squeaky transmissions and I'm pleased to report we've been returning around two hundred miles from White Lightning's "Clean Ride" through the drier months. Maintenance has been little more than a light drizzle on every link and periodically wiping any sludge from the outer plates. However, I'm edging closer to the bottle's end and must make a decision whether to continue, or substitute for a more tenacious gloopy offering for the darker months that creep nearer.

Elsewhere, Knog's mighty dry dog remains a near permanent feature aboard the Univega's beefy cro-moly rack. Summer cloudburst, river crossings and the general hurdy gurdy of rough-stuff touring have made no impression on the fabric or moreover, contents. Its thirteen inch sibling has the edge when it comes to the cut and thrust of commuting since it slips through gaps that bit easier and doesn't foul the floor when wheeling the bike through tight apartment corridors but bigger brother is bang on for weekend touring.

Right, well a kindly editor has bestowed a lovely box of goodies for testing and the wide blue yonder is calling me.